


Not Just Anybody

by blueskypenguin



Series: Help 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskypenguin/pseuds/blueskypenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel has put himself in this position. Now it's up to him to stick around or bail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Just Anybody

* * *

Gabriel paused at the foot of the stairs, “All joking aside,” and didn’t that suck, having done little but joke for centuries, “I need to talk to Castiel - Famine shouldn’t have affected him like that.”

Dean just nodded, and now he looked haunted, his feet falling heavier on the stairs and his sorrow causing his heartbeat to echo strangely in Gabriel’s ears. It seemed the eldest Winchester knew what was happening to Castiel – or was talking the blame for it anyway. Gabriel rolled his eyes when Dean couldn’t see; knowing him, it was probably both.

He let his senses extend as they made it to the ground floor of the house and he could hear Sam in the shower upstairs. He desperately tried not to follow the trickle of water with his mind, the motions of Sam’s hands and the longing urge to _be there_. Now Dean had named what Gabriel was feeling, dragged it into his existence, the harsh light of day as it were, it was difficult to push back down.

He really didn’t want to think about these things at all, he shouldn’t have talked to Dean.

It was easier before today to ignore it.

* * *

Gabriel stalked straight past his brother and Singer in the living room. “Castiel, we need to chat.” Even as he barked out the order and Castiel followed, he cursed inwardly. He wasn’t here to give orders, not even to an angel a feather from Falling.

Distantly, he registered Dean striking up a conversation with Bobby; Gabriel tried not to listen. Sam was still in the shower upstairs; he tried not to _want_.

“Famine made you his bitch, Castiel,” he said harshly, cutting to the chase and focusing intently on Castiel’s vessel and dwindling grace. His focus narrowed to this moment, this place, this conversation with his brother and he softened; Castiel shouldn’t pay for his frustrations. “Just how cut off from the Host are you?”

The other angel was silent for a few moments, blinking slowly under the dawn sun. “I am now incapable of many things,” Castiel admitted, fists clenching by his sides, clearly embarrassed. “I can no longer heal others and healing myself is taxing. I am unable to perform exorcisms by touch, and my recent attempts at time travel left me... unconscious for days.”

There was no justice here, and this was not acceptable, decided Gabriel. Not Castiel, who was the most faithful of them all, and was acting out of love for humanity, just as their Father had intended. “How long do you think you have?”

“Perhaps only months,” he said softly. “If things remain as they are.”

By which Gabriel reckoned he meant, ‘ _if Dean continues to refuse to take my virtue and I’m not asked to do anything particularly angelic_ ’. He’d put Castiel only a few weeks away from Fall. Well, he could fix that, he decided, since they needed every advantage they could get. It wouldn’t take much...

“Give me your hand.”

“I cannot ask that you-“

“Oh, shut up,” Gabriel’s words were scathing but his tone was fond. “Of all of the values you can pick up from the Winchesters, you emulate the self-sacrificing crap. Take my hand, Castiel.” And there again was the commanding underscore, but he let it happen naturally this time as he stretched out a hand. The tight lock on his grace was slowly releasing; perhaps he was Gabriel now, all angel and no Trickster. Just a few months ago he hadn’t been called by his true name (or at least humanity’s equivalent) for millennia, now it tripped off his tongue, his brother’s tongue, out of Sam, Dean and Singer. It was everywhere, a constant reminder of who and what he used to be, and now he was about to share his grace – the ultimate angelic indulgence.

It was usually difficult within vessels, probably would be near impossible if it weren’t for the unique ways he and Castiel inhabited their bodies. Whatever brought the young seraph back was a being of considerable power to allow the recreation of an empty vessel. Archangels were capable of it – it was how Gabriel had crafted this bodycenturies ago and how he had recreated Anna Milton’s body for Anael.

And of course their Father could do anything.

As Castiel’s hand slipped into his, Gabriel let the confines on his grace loosen, let it reach out and coax Castiel’s forward. Castiel practically sagged into him, and it was so overwhelming for Gabriel to finally, _finally_ have that taste of home after so long alone, closed down, denying who he was, that he let Castiel cling to him. Gabriel even held on, feeling his grace replenishing Castiel’s.

Eyes closed, it was pure sensation. It was heat, warm and all encompassing. It was light, pure grace, so close to home that for a few seconds it didn’t matter that they were both bound to Earth by choice and circumstance. It wasn’t like being in his Father’s presence but it was so very close.

It was the best creamy chocolate, sweetest fruity candy - and thankfully so unlike sweaty, hard sex.

Eventually, Castiel pulled away. “Thank you,” he said reverently and Gabriel shrugged. He would have quite happily let him recover more, after all he wasn’t losing anything by letting his grace encourage and strengthen Castiel’s; archangels worked a little differently from the rest of heaven’s choirs and even Lucifer didn’t lose his grace when he Fell. But Castiel was already brighter, more vital. Even if Dean Winchester manned up, the angel would have years and even this debacle couldn’t go on that long...

“Does this mean you have chosen to help us?” That was one of the reasons Gabriel found himself liking his younger brother; forthrightness.

His thoughts immediately strayed back to Sam, who was just getting out of the shower; the slide of cotton against his skin was as loud to Gabriel as the needless blood roaring past his ears. He turned away from the house and stared at the cars strewn around the grounds. “I guess I have.”

“Why?”

Okay, so perhaps that forthrightness was all well and good, but Castiel could stand to learn some tact - although upon further thought, Gabriel wasn’t sure who in this merry band he’d learn tact from. “Does it matter?”

“It does,” Castiel said simply. “This appears very sudden and unwarranted, Gabriel.”

“Sudden, yes,” and had Sam reacted differently to his blood binge and Gabriel’s appearance, he’d probably have put Sam into a sleep and left as soon as the door was opened rather than face a Sam spiralling further down Lucifer’s path, playing right into the Morningstar’s metaphysical hands. “But not unwarranted. Neither of them will say yes to Michael and Lucifer, so it looks like we have to try and save this world some other way.” Gabriel turned to look at Castiel and instantly wished he hadn’t, he was being studied so intently, but he didn’t look away – didn’t dare.

“Sam did an astounding thing this week and I consider both he and Dean to be my friends,” Castiel said in a low voice. “There is little I could do if you were to bring them to harm, but I would happily stand aside while they delivered whatever retribution they saw fit.”

Had it been from anyone else, Gabriel may have laughed, pointed out that the Winchesters can’t kill Lucifer and so couldn’t kill him, and yet Castiel was so earnest even in the face of one of heaven’s most powerful beings that he couldn’t bear to. That, and a broken Sam Winchester didn’t seem all that fun anymore.

Why was he surrounding himself with reminders of what he used to be, again? Why was he doing this at all?

He met the angel’s eyes steadily, “I will not willingly bring these boys to harm, Castiel.”

He heard Sam padding down the stairs, greeting Dean and Bobby, asking where he and Castiel were. He felt Sam’s eyes on him, with the curiosity and unexpected warmth behind them. “And if I do,” he continued fervently, as he turned and walked back into the house and leaving Castiel behind, “I’ll let justice be done.”

* * *

When Gabriel stepped into the living room, Sam fucking beamed (smile and soul) and he smelled... perfect, clean, _right_ , with not a drop of demon blood pumping in his veins. That owed something to a little mystical helping hand Gabriel had given Sam’s system while he’d slept, but when Sam was so pristine and calm again he couldn’t regret it. The kid even looked like comfort personified, in socks, sweatpants and a t-shirt, freshly-shaven and scrubbed new.

Clearly his sharing with Castiel had left him too raw and too open because his perception was out of control. He wanted to crawl into Sam and stay there. Every sense was telling him that Sam was home, and was good, and was _his_ \- even though he was certainly not that. Over and over all he could see from Sam’s mind was a jumble of _thank you, thank you, safe, Gabriel, why, a chance, thank you_.

He tore his eyes from Sam and found everyone was waiting to see what he was going to do now. He decided pretty quickly.

If he was going to join this side - Team Earth (or whatever inane moniker Dean must have christened them with) - they were going to need everyone they could get. He glanced at Singer briefly and figured it was worth ruining his Trickster street-cred with these guys just a little, for this.

That was if he had any standing with them as a Trickster anymore – he was cutting a swath through it with all this miracle working and compassion.

Fucking Winchesters.

He rubbed his hands together, and slipping back into irreverence was harder than it should be but he didn’t want to do this as the Archangel Gabriel. “Well, let’s see. I showed up for Sammy here, I pulled Dean’s head out of his ass, and I recharged Castiel’s celestial batteries,” Gabriel pointed at each of them in turn with a put-upon frown. “What do you say, Wheels – wanna make it a home run? I’m not gonna be pedalling faith, hope and charity all day.”

The emotions he was bombarded with from each person in the room – even Castiel – were almost overwhelming. It made his wings twitch uncomfortably.

Things were so much easier as a pagan.

Singer’s face was a careful mask of indifference, but Gabriel could feel the rising hope and disbelief behind it. He knew the man would never ask for this, would never say “please” for it – hunters and their supposed shows of weakness, he thought scathingly. “Alright, Grumpy. Outta the chair,” he said, walking into the kitchen to find a cup of coffee – a pointless task when he could click a perfect one into existence but he didn’t want to witness the little miracle in the front room.

He hadn’t done it for Singer, he’d done it for... It was for the cause – every able-bodied man and all that.

No thanks or praise required, not from them, he didn’t want it.

He clicked himself a coffee almost viciously.

“Surely Dean’s Grumpy?” Sam said from the doorway and the coffee sloshed in his mug a little; Gabriel will deny his ending day that he let a Winchester get the drop on him, _again_. He was all out of whack, he realised, pushing his angelic perception back down as far as he dared. “The sceptical one who warms to you?”

“Oh, I am _so_ not Snow White in this analogy, Princess,” Gabriel fought a smile, the joy radiating through the house and from Sam seeming infectious. The pure feeling caused a pang of homesickness and tried to shove it down. “So if Singer there is Doc, what does that make you? Bashful?”

“Thankful,” Sam responded, his grin widening as Gabriel snorted and mumbled awkwardly under his breath about there being no such dwarf. Message received, the archangel thought wryly.

He wanted so badly to know what Sam was thinking under all that humility, gratitude and curiosity.

“So you promised me soup?”

He finally let through the smile he’d been battling against. “Sit down Sammy,” he clicked and a steaming bowl of soup appeared, as well as a stack of soft, crusty bread in the centre of the table. He took a seat opposite and Sam took to his soup with indecent satisfaction.

For a being who’d indulged almost every one of his whims for millennia, it felt strange to deny himself Sam, but Gabriel remembered all too well how he’d toyed with the kid at the Mystery Spot. He supposed he was waiting for Sam to remember too, for the other shoe to drop in this fucked up situation.

In the mean time, he’d take what Sam would give him and try and keep this world turning for humanity. “I heard tell you tried to take Lucifer out with Samuel Colt’s pistol.” Oh, he’d laughed at their stupidity when news had reached him. It didn’t seem so funny now; he’d heard two hunters had died in Carthage...

“Fat lot of use that was,” Dean growled as he approached - Castiel and Bobby hanging back a little - looking pointedly between Gabriel and the soup.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and without even clicking, another serving was in place at the seat next to him. Dean slid into the seat, breathing in the steam from the soup. The resulting wave of nostalgia and accompanying pain lanced through Gabriel and he winced, looking away only to lock gazes with Sam.

The rising longing for home, for so many things he just couldn’t have, was overwhelming. “Good soup?”

“You,” Dean swallowed, oblivious, “Are awesome.”

He was frozen, couldn’t even see what Sam was thinking, feeling. The universe in its infinity narrowed to Sam’s heartbeat, Sam’s eyes and his own grace, trying to rip itself from his chest and make a home in the man across the table.

Castiel and Singer were observing curiously and Gabriel forced himself to look away and barrel on. “Colt’s pistol isn’t capable of killing archangels. Or God,” he added, though it was an afterthought – killing God wasn’t even possible.

On the surface Sam was just curious, but Gabriel felt the suspicion growing underneath it. He avoided looking back, knowing he should have expected it – the Winchesters were just waiting to be played all over again, and he shows up out of the blue to help them all and seems to have exactly what they need to win? It smacked of demon bitch and there was no way to prove he wasn’t going to screw them over.

Probably because he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to screw them over.

“What can?” Sam asked, looking far too casual.

Gabriel hesitated. There was only one thing that could kill an archangel, besides God’s will, and he knew as soon as he let the words loose in the room that he’d be called on to step up.

Was he ready for that, with Sam’s suspicion burning in the back of his throat like this?

He should leave, he knew. He should get up, walk out and tell Michael or Lucifer - whichever he got to first - where the Winchesters were, which buttons to push, which promises to make. He could probably make it really easy for them, and they’d get their celebrity death match and everything would stop.

 _Everything._

Yeah, he didn’t want that.

He idly remembered bumping into one of his brothers back in the nineties, in Britain, during another aborted apocalypse (‘ _another_ ,’ he thought; _‘getting hopeful there, Gabriel?_ ’). He’d said, in a quaint British accent acquired from thousands of years of going native, that once he’d been in for a penny, he was in for a pound. Gabriel had rolled his eyes, figuring Aziraphale could have bowed out at any time; he understood now.

“Only an archangel’s sword is capable of killing another archangel.”

At least Sam’s suspicion had faded, Gabriel thought as the words seemed to hover in the air between the rag-tag group.

“An archangel’s sword?” Dean clarified. “As in an actual blade?”

“What else could I possibly mean by ‘sword’ in this context?” the archangel replied, scathingly. Sometimes he wondered how some of these humans even learned language. Especially Dean, the closet Vonnegut-whore.

“Zach called me ‘the Michael sword’, being all metaphorical and shit.”

“Zachariah always loved the sound of his own voice,” Gabriel shrugged, spelling it out for the special class. “The sword of any one of the four archangels can kill any one of the other three. Michael’s sword couldn’t be used to kill Michael, but it could kill Lucifer, Raphael ...or myself.”

He _really_ wasn’t too keen on this topic of conversation any more.

Singer moved into Gabriel’s direct line of sight instead of lurking as he had been behind his right shoulder. “I guess I’ll be the one to ask the obvious question,” he said. Singer clearly trusted Gabriel about as far as he could throw him, even with the miracle-working. “You’re here, you look like you’re gonna help us more than you already have... Are you gonna do this?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Wield my flaming sword against my brothers for Team Earth?”

“Team Free Will,” Castiel corrected, and lips twitching ever so slightly.

“I knew you’d have a stupid name,” he scoffed. Dean stiffened but said nothing. It was Sam who refused to let him get away with changing the subject, bringing the question back to the fore.

“So, would you?”

He shrugged, figuring this was the only plan they had that didn’t involve surrendering to Michael and the Morningstar. “If that’s what it comes down to, to save this little world... I guess I would.”

“You guess?” Dean probed, clearly unhappy with the vagueness.

“Forgive me if I’m in no hurry to kill one of my brothers, Deano,” Gabriel said, sarcasm thick over the words. Fucking Winchesters, never seeing the bigger picture when it matters most.

Dean cowed under the stern gaze. “Right.”

No-one moved as Gabriel stood and left the kitchen.

* * *

He took a seat on the porch and gazed up at the sun, steadily rising in the morning sky.

“I’d say you’d burn your eyes, but...,” Dean slumped down next to him, and Gabriel was aware of Sam, Bobby and Castiel still in the kitchen, silent. He couldn’t decide whether Dean had drawn the short straw or had volunteered. “Listen, about-“

“It’s fine,” he cut Dean off tersely, squinting unnecessarily at the light.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. Everyone keeps telling me it’s all gonna come down to me or Sam, Michael or Lucifer. We say yes and one of us kills the other and that isn’t an option.”

Gabriel hung his head, suddenly tired - he’d been one of them; he was such a hypocrite sometimes, but that was nothing new. “If it comes down to it-“

“I know. I’m just saying that I get it,” Dean shrugged. “And about what you did-“

“If you apologise _and_ thank me in the space of a lifetime, I will exorcise you,” Gabriel said lowly. He thought there was a rule about chick flick moments.

Dean waved carelessly, “Whatever,” but his grin was wide. “So about Sam-“

“We had a deal, Winchester,” he grumbled threatening. “Don’t make me talk about your inferiority complex again.”

“Just sayin’,” and he stood. “So are you gonna sulk out here some more, or are you gonna come inside and talk tactics?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, getting up from the step. “Word to the wise, kid – don’t patronise an archangel.”

* * *

They’d set up some sort of impromptu war council around the kitchen table, Sam and Dean on one side, Gabriel and Castiel opposite them on the other and Singer at the head like an underdressed misanthropic statesman.

The problem with every single plan proposed was that it hinged on getting Michael and Lucifer in the same place, or getting Raphael on side. Eventually the latter was ruled out completely - Raphael had always been very clear cut about Heaven’s chain of command and Gabriel’s life-style choices were bound to go down as well as a chocolate fire-guard with all three of the other archangels.

“If we can’t get them together to talk this out,” Gabriel summed up as Dean and Sam were striving to stay awake, “Or find Dad, then we’ll be finishing this with my sword and we _have_ to kill both of them.”

“And we’re back to square one,” Dean bitched.

“I don’t know about you boys,” Singer said, but Gabriel could see that he clearly did, because Sam was ready to plant that pretty face into the tabletop and Dean was getting steadily more irritated (and irritating). “But I’m wiped. We can pick this up tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Dean forced through a yawn, standing and looking to Castiel and Gabriel. “You guys gonna hang around overnight?”

Gabriel shrugged, replying flippantly, “I’ll be here in the morning. I can’t promise I won’t get bored and hit up Vegas in the mean time.”

He grinned, “Fair enough, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“At this point,” Gabriel parried with a salacious smirk as Dean walked away, “There’s very little I won’t do.” He was left in the eerily silent kitchen; Singer, Castiel and Sam staring at him like some sort of biological specimen. It was quite funny how confused and shocked they were by his and Dean’s easy camaraderie.

“I’m too old for this shit,” Singer shook his head and walked out, muttering under his breath things that were perfectly audible to the archangel. “Lovesick girls, the lot of you.”

Castiel began to clear away the various books and papers they’d been referring to over the last few hours of fruitless talk, but Sam remained in his seat.

“I guess that talk with Dean went better than expected,” Sam said eventually, tone flat and Gabriel’s read on him was no help; the kid was emoting all over the place in one tired, messy, mixed-up beacon.

Sam was still like a magnet for Gabriel’s grace, though.

He gave Sam a smug smile, “I had a really good argument.”

At Castiel’s questioning gaze, something mirrored by Sam, he shook his head. “I’m not telling either of you.” He wasn’t going to out his and Dean’s pathetic little crushes. “Needless to say, we’re getting along fine.”

“I saw, and I’m glad. Famine did a number on him,” Sam looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he rose from his seat, stretched – long and slow, like a sleepy cat, and Gabriel had to smother a whimper when the stretch of his t-shirt revealed tan, toned hips – and left the room, oblivious, with a murmured, “’Night.”

It was quiet once again, soft sounds of shuffling upstairs and the odd creaking floorboard.

Castiel leaned against the counter. “You are not as subtle as you seem to think,” he said, a small smirk around his lips. It was a strange pride that Gabriel felt, seeing that expression on his little brother’s face even as the denials flowed to the tip of his tongue and embarrassment flooded through him.

“I have no idea what you mean. Now, don’t we have plans in the Middle East this evening?”

* * *

Gabriel and Castiel returned to Singer’s porch as the dawn broke, thanks to some minor time travel. Two of the three humans were asleep in their beds, and Gabriel instantly knew it was Sam who was sitting stretched out on the sofa by the way he felt tugged there, urged even.

Castiel said nothing, sitting down to watch the sunrise after a fruitless night’s search, leaving Gabriel alone.

He wasn’t even sure if Sam was awake, but as he walked into the house, he listened to Sam’s low breathing, steady heartbeat and felt his aching sorrow.

“Sam?”

“Hey,” he replied quietly, looking up from a days-old newspaper Gabriel knew he’d read cover to cover. “God show up in Vegas?”

Gabriel smiled bitterly. “I don’t know about Vegas but He’s definitely not knocking about Lashkar Gah. You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sam said, looking away.

“Cravings?”

“Nightmares.”

“Normal ones? At least,” he clarified, because these boys weren’t likely to have your run-of-the-mill nightmares, “Nightmares of Winchester-standard normal? Or has Lucifer been dream-walking again?”

Sam’s gaze snapped back to Gabriel sharply. “How did you know he was doing that?”

“Ah, it’s his way,” he said, perhaps too dismissively because Sam turned away quickly and he felt like kicking himself.

“It was just normal nightmares,” Sam’s voice was quiet but clear as a bell in the early-morning hush of the house. “Lucifer hasn’t come into my dreams since before Carthage.”

The archangel nodded in satisfaction. “Good. If he does, let me know and Castiel and I can sort some dream-wards out.” Sam was a fairly safe bet right now, but the Morningstar could still make things difficult for the kid.

Smiling gratefully, Sam folded up the newspaper and stood, already seeming brighter. “Coffee?”

The happy curve of his lips sent Gabriel’s grace stretching out to the sleep-warm Sam and he grinned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. This? This was progress.

Dean thumped loudly down the stairs. “Coffee sounds awesome, Sammy,” he rasped through the haze of sleep. Gabriel could tell just by the sight of him that he’d dreamt of Hell. It hadn’t been a restful night for the Winchesters. “Hey, Gabe, how about you click us up some pancakes?”

“Don’t call me Gabe,” he pointed at Dean threateningly, and when he turned back Sam had already walked away.

* * *

Days passed in the same manner. Gabriel and Castiel would search the world for signs of their Father by night and by day, all four would research or strategise. Within the first day, Singer had picked up a hunt from an old friend a state away, eager to road-test his working legs and forcing a promise of the four to leave his house standing. They’d waved him off with promises to play nice.

They didn’t get very far.

Sweet fuck all is what they got, in fact, on all counts except the still-standing four walls.

“Hypothetically...”

“Hypothetically?” Gabriel repeated, dryly, rocking back on his chair legs.

“Yeah, so is there any way,” Dean took a mouthful of pie, mulling, “We could force them to leave us after we said ‘yes’?”

“You’re not saying ‘yes’,” Gabriel said sternly, levelling the chair with a thump. Though they all sat around the table, only Dean and Gabriel had forks, sharing a fourteen-inch cherry pie while Castiel looked on indulgently and Sam occasionally looked up from his book with variations of bitch-face. “And no, you can’t force them out so it’s moot anyway.”

“It was hypothetical – I was just asking.”

“Well don’t,” he replied. So help him, he was not letting this end with Michael and Lucifer getting their way, getting their hands on Sam or Dean.

Dean just rolled his eyes, taking another bite of pie with near-orgasmic delight. “Next question: why both? Can we do this without offing Michael? If we only get Lucifer, will that stop them?”

Gabriel shook his head. “If there’s no Lucifer, no Adversary, then there’s nothing standing in the way of Paradise on Earth. They win. They need Michael to do it, though, hence why they need you, Dean, and why Heaven has turned to trying to kill you,” he gestured to Sam, who looked up only briefly from his book with a tight nod. “So this has to end with both alive, or both dead, otherwise humanity loses.”

“This sucks,” Dean huffed, emphatic. A murmur of agreement circled the table.

“Even if we were to kill Michael and Lucifer, we will still have to deal with the Host,” Castiel pointed out. “Paradise cannot be brought according to prophecy, but Zachariah, Raphael and the entirety of Heaven’s garrisons could still wipe out humanity.”

“Someone needs to go and take charge afterwards,” Sam suggested flatly, not even looking up from whatever aged tome he was reading.

Gabriel knew what he was getting at and covered the hurt with a pissy retort, “Well it won’t be me, sunshine. Unless Dad shows his face up there, I’m staying.” He wouldn’t go back to an empty house full of squabbling brothers with just him and Castiel to whip it into shape.

He was really starting to wonder just what he’d done to turn the softly smiling Sammy of last week into this pissy, closed-off stranger. It wasn’t like Gabriel had said anything to piss Sam off, not as far as he knew. Every day it had gotten worse and worse, first aimed at him, then at Dean and eventually even Castiel was getting Sam’s cold shoulder.

It wasn’t withdrawal, Lucifer was keeping his feathers out of Sam’s dreams and why would Sam turn on them sequentially if it was just prolonged exposure to the same three people day in, day out, staying in the same house. Gabriel was baffled and getting an empathic read on Sam was no help – he was all over the place; it was so bad Gabriel had stopped trying after the first few cross words because it was pretty much just white, grace-grating noise.

“How is the search going?” Dean asked, drawing Gabriel’s attention away. He shared a sad look with Castiel and forced a relaxed shrug, sitting back in his seat. It really wasn’t going well; he didn’t believe their Father was dead, but he was beginning to believe He didn’t want to be found. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, considering their Father would know everything going on. Surely He didn’t want to see his creation become fratricidal battlefield? Gabriel hoped his Father was just waiting, though what for, Gabriel couldn’t say.

Dean covered the awkward moment with another enthusiastic mouthful of pie. “Oh, this is awesome.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel grinned, smug. “Glad I can earn my keep.”

Sam closed his book and left the table without a word.

Dean shook his head with a smile, “He’s such a girl.” Gabriel looked at him, questioning, but it was Dean’s turn to play coy. “Nuh-uh, you’re not getting any more help from me.”

“Nor me,” Castiel added, that smirk twisting around his lips again.

“Or Cas.”

* * *

It all came to a head ten days after Gabriel had first shown up. It was early evening, and with Dean and Castiel fixing up the panic room with some new sigils they’d uncovered to specifically ward against Michael and Lucifer, Gabriel was taking some time to relax. He was all set, with his feet up in the living room, a bag of crispy M&Ms and a copy of Weekly World News for old times’ sake.

Sam had been shopping, picking up some food they refused to rely on Gabriel alone for, even now. “Where is everyone?” When he shuffled into Gabriel’s line of sight, Gabriel forced himself to look up only briefly, then back down at the latest sighting of Elvis in a Burger Lord.

“Downstairs, probably making moon-eyes at each other over Enochian and lambs’ blood,” he scoffed. One of the main reasons he’d stayed upstairs, because he was determined to give Dean every opportunity to man up. That, and Sam would have _no choice_ but to ask him where his brother and Castiel were.

Sam slumped down into a chair, arms folded and his long legs stretched out in front of him, bitch-face most likely permanently fixed there after the past week and a half. “Not giving them a hand?”

He looked up at Sam through his eyelashes, and replied slowly, “No.”

“I’m just surprised you’re letting Dean out of your sight, that’s all,” Sam said, far too casually and avoiding looking at the archangel at all, fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater.

Gabriel lowered the news rag slowly. “Excuse me?”

Sam looked up challengingly, “You’ve barely left his side during the day since you got here, and now you’re letting him eye-fuck your brother downstairs?”

“I think there’s a serious misunderstanding here,” Gabriel said, trying to gather his thoughts.

What the fuck was going on? He wasn’t ‘letting’ Dean do anything, he had no say over what Dean did; if he did, Dean and Castiel certainly wouldn’t be painting in the panic room.

Not in bloody paint, anyway.

“Yeah, well, I think Dean and Cas were heading towards something great until _you_ showed up and started seducing him with your jokes and flirting over pie and pancakes.”

Gabriel blinked. “Oh yeah, _definitely_ a misunderstanding,” he threw his reading material aside and leaned forward, gesturing wildly. “I’m not interested in Dean, and Dean is certainly not interested in me.”

Sam’s semi-permanent bitch-face dissolved into a furrowed brow of confusion. “You’re not?”

“Hell no! I’ve been trying to convince your brother to stop feeling so unworthy and damned responsible and take his angel to bed!” He all but yelled in exasperation, belatedly hoping Castiel couldn’t hear him – he was planning on more sensitive ways to clue his brother in.

Despite being totally lost as to what was actually going on, Sam scoffed, “Good luck with that. You should have stuck them in a romantic comedy.”

“Don’t give me ideas, Sammy.”

“You were the one scouring Weekly World News for inspiration,” and bitch-faced Sam returned, full force.

Gabriel growled in frustration. “I’ve been here ten days, helping you strategise and helping Castiel search for Dad without a single trick – I’ve performed miracles, I have even _offered you my sword_ which is a pretty big deal, I’ll have you know - and from all this you deduce... what? I’m screwing you over and trying to jump Dean? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Sam flushed under Gabriel’s narrowed gaze.

“So what,” Gabriel prompted, “This whole cold-shoulder bullshit is you looking out for Dean and Castiel, because I seriously doubt that.” When no response came from Sam, who looked like he was trying to get the cushioned chair swallow him, Gabriel rolled his eyes and let his grace eagerly extend towards the young man.

What he found was _not_ the messy emotional wreckage he’d sensed last time.

Sam was jealous.

He wasn’t quite so confused anymore - more painfully embarrassed over this colossal misunderstanding (and acting like a girl; Gabriel instantly declared suitable retribution would befall Dean for not just telling him this), but he was jealous and desire tinged every thought.

Over Gabriel. For Gabriel.

“Oh,” he exclaimed softly.

Sam closed his eyes with a pained expression.

How did he not see this? It seemed so obvious now with tendrils of his grace curling around Sam, Gabriel surrounding himself in Sam’s soft lust for him, unfettered, unconditional and so completely overwhelming. Why was it that this kid continued to surprise him? Over and over, he enthralled and fascinated Gabriel, defying his expectations at every turn – it was refreshing and fun and as he matched Sam’s emotions to his own he prayed; _Father, I think I love this man._

Gabriel swallowed, whispering hoarsely, his voice cracking over the simple syllable, “Sam.”

He was walking forward before he’d even thought of it, his vessel helplessly following his grace to Sam’s lap, watching as his eyes snapped open and Gabriel was swamped with joyful awe. The chair wasn’t too wide, but Gabriel’s knees slipped easily enough either side of Sam’s slim hips, his hands steadying Gabriel.

“Why didn’t you just say something,” Gabriel shook his head, amazed. He cupped Sam’s cheek, thumb stroking across his bottom lip with intent.

Sam opened his mouth and grazed his teeth on the flesh of Gabriel’s thumb, eliciting a moan. “You used to smite people for a living. Also, you’re pretty enigmatic.”

“And you thought I wanted your brother,” he added with a wicked smile.

A tiny moment of clarity had him wondering how he’d gotten to this moment; it melted away just as soon as it came with the flick of Sam’s tongue and another sharp drag of teeth against his thumb.

“Well... I’ve been known to jump to conclusions.”

Humming in agreement, Gabriel slid his hand into Sam’s hair and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, moaning brokenly as Sam’s hands on his hips pulled him in and down, half-hard cocks coming into contact through two layers of denim. The gasp it drew from Sam was all the opportunity Gabriel needed to sweep his tongue inside to twine with Sam’s, teasing and taking and putting many years of experience to good use.

“We should probably take this upstairs,” Sam groaned between nips at Gabriel’s jaw, zeroing in on the archangel’s neck and fancying leaving a mark there. Sam licked at where Gabriel’s needless pulse thumped, fast and erratic and unexpected. As his head tipped back, Sam began to gently bite and suck an impossible bruise.

“Yeah,” Gabriel agreed breathlessly, eventually, tempted to claw back his grace from where it surrounded them both, the sheer purity of sensation threatening to engulf him but he didn’t want to lose a single point of contact.

With as clear intent as he could, he willed them upstairs into Sam’s room.

Gabriel was a little surprised to materialise on the bed, Sam underneath him, his fingers still tangled in the kid’s hair, Sam’s mouth still worrying his neck and his hand now creeping past the waistband of Gabriel’s jeans to tease at his hole. “Gotta faster way,” he forced out, fingers slipping through a click but it was more about will than action and suddenly cloth was replaced by flesh and they both gasped.

He was out of it, he knew, drunk on Sam as he guided Sam’s mouth back to his, reaching between them to stroke Sam’s cock, angling his own hips just right for what he intended to do.

“Lube,” Sam mumbled into Gabriel’s mouth, pointedly pushing a finger tip inside Gabriel.

Gabriel countered breathlessly, “Angel. Y’Can’t hurt me.” The implications caused Sam to give a full-body shudder and he grinned. “Ready?” He asked, spreading his thighs just that fraction further now he wasn’t hindered by a narrow chair, so that when Sam groaned out an affirmation with his hand bracketing Gabriel’s hips, he pushed down, taking Sam’s cock inside and bottoming out in one swift move.

The strangled moan ripped from Sam’s throat alone was worth it.

He rested his forehead against Sam’s, the position they were in with Gabriel straddling Sam’s lap putting them more or less at an equal height. He gave Sam a few moments to adjust, only moving his hips fractionally until Sam’s hands were guiding Gabriel’s movements and he was lifting almost totally off Sam’s cock and slamming back down with every thrust.

Gabriel pressed his face into Sam’s neck as he palmed Gabriel’s cock in time with every thrust of his hips. The only warning he could give Sam was the hand he used to cover his eyes as he rocked down erratically and he felt his orgasm threatening to break over him. He bore down on Sam’s cock, prostate taking the sharp thrust and that was it, Gabriel was coming, light flashing bright even with his eyes closed and thick white ropes coating their stomachs and chests from his pulsating cock.

Sam thrust up, filling Gabriel and as Gabriel shook he was dimly aware that he was chanting Sam’s name, just as Sam seemed to be chanting his.

* * *

Gabriel helpfully cleaned them both off (as well as the sheets) with a thought, getting rid of the comforter they’d just ruined too, leaving it pristine and folded on the floor on the other side of the room. Sam murmured a sleepy ‘thanks’ into his skin.

“No problem,” Gabriel teased his fingers through Sam’s hair.

He couldn’t quite believe he’d made it here, to this moment. It seemed so surreal, sweat cooling on Sam’s skin, hearts slowing to a resting beat and the sun setting outside.

“Dean and Cas’ll be wondering where we are.”

He grinned, “I doubt they missed that light show.”

Sam’s chuckle rumbled through Gabriel, hot puffs of breath on his skin making him shiver. “Have to go downstairs eventually.”

“Later,” Gabriel decreed, pulling Sam closer and pressing a kiss into his hair. “Sleep.”

* * *

As much as he wanted to stay with Sam until he woke up, he started to get restless after the first hour of watching his lover sleep, no matter how beautiful it was to see. As he slipped out of the bed, he replaced the comforter so Sam didn’t get cold, wondering when he got so soft.

Probably right around the time he fell in love with his brother’s true vessel, he scoffed.

He dressed with a click and headed downstairs to smell chilli cooking on the stove and Dean and Castiel moving around each other comfortably in the kitchen. Cas had even taken off his trench-coat and jacket, rolled up sleeves and loose tie making him look... debauched.

They both turned to Gabriel as he came in, and he smirked. He hadn’t been the only angel under this roof to get himself a piece of Winchester this evening. Dean flushed and looked away, mumbling, “This is a conversation we don’t need to have, right?”

Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh aloud. “Yeah, calm down.”

“Food’s ready whenever Sammy is.”

He had a feeling he’d always know where Sam was and how he was feeling from now on, his grace automatically seeking his lover out at the sound of his name. Upstairs, Sam was sleepy, satisfied and slipping back into his jeans. “He’s just getting out of bed.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it when Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him.

He followed Sam’s progress down the stairs and into the kitchen with idle care, noting happily the slight increase in heart rate when he saw Gabriel there. “Hey guys.”

He shared a look with Gabriel, nodding at Dean and Cas with a sly grin. Gabriel smirked back, and they grinned.

It was a strange, calm moment as it seemed like everyone had just what they wanted. Dean was having some sort of silent conversation – not unlike the one he’d just had with Sam – with Castiel, and Sam was moving to the table to sit and wait for some food. Gabriel ducked his head to hide a smile – Apocalypse notwithstanding, this was pretty much perfect.

There was a small cough from behind them, and they all turned in alarm, Sam and Dean reaching for weapons they weren’t wearing because hell, nothing should be able to make it this far into the house, past the salt and iron all over the property.

The alarm quickly turned to awe - at least for the two angels.

In the kitchen doorway stood a young girl, no more than twelve, with long dark blonde hair and a plain face with wide brown eyes, dressed inconspicuously in a sundress and trainers. She smiled serenely, hands clasped in front of her. “Gabriel, Castiel. You’ve been looking for me.”


End file.
